


Don't Let Me Go Solo

by lydiamrtin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Lives, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, POV Lydia, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiamrtin/pseuds/lydiamrtin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allydia senior year prom au. Contains certain elements of canon like Scott's powers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Go Solo

“Scott, this might be the most infuriatingly cheesy promposal I’ve ever had the misfortune to stumble upon.”

Lydia has just laid down the last red solo cup, completing a semi-perfect heart on the floor of Allison’s living room. The Allison who’s currently on her way home, and Lydia and Scott haven’t even started the sign yet. Perfect.

“Here, Lydia, start the sign, I’ll go get the glitter. Hey, and don’t spill any of that paint on the carpet, Allison’s dad’ll kill us.”

“Scott, there’s no time,” Lydia sighs, pushing her disheveled hair back. “Just, help me with this. I’ll start with the ‘don’t’ and you do the ‘let.’”

The pair begins to hurriedly paint the red block letters, desperately searching for the acute balance of quality and efficiency. Not soon enough do they move on to the “me” and the “go,” and not five minutes later does Lydia hear Scott’s groan of exasperation before her eyes have time to avert to the miniscule but noticeable drop of red paint land on the creamy carpet. She and Scott exchange agitated eye contact for a fleeting moment before,

“It’s fine, Scott, just don’t-”

Scott rubs it in.

“Rub it in.”

Lydia closes her eyes.

“I didn’t- How did that-” Scott splutters, looking at his jean jacket sleeve in disbelief as if it betrayed him.

“I know.”

“I was just trying to-”

“You have to let it dry first. And then cut it with scissors. For a true alpha you aren’t the brightest.”

Scott laughs incredulously. “God, I thought it would just . . . I’m sorry, Lyd. I’ll clean it up later, let’s just finish the sign. You write ‘prom’ at the bottom and I’ll just write ‘solo’ right here.”

So Lydia perseveres, not nearly as intricately as she would have liked to, but under their strenuous time frame, decent legibility suffices. She’s finalizing the M when Scott’s phone buzzes.

“It’s Stiles, they’re back!” He jumps up like a rabbit, his warm brown eyes glistening with excitement.

“Lydia, she’s gonna _love_ it. I _promise._ I’ll go get them, stay up here!”

Scott runs out of the room, and Lydia gingerly picks up the sign that reads “Don’t let me go solo, prom?”

She steps into the center of the red solo cup heart, internally cursing Stiles for even coming up with this idea, let alone convincing her to do it, begging her time after time by insisting that he was “one with Allison’s sense of humor.”

The problem is, he’s _right._ Their practically identical senses of humor, not to mention their shared trait of insufferable sarcasm, are what bring her girlfriend and that neurotic little bastard together. As much as Lydia hates to admit it, if Stiles considers something enjoyable, most likely Allison will, too.

The sound of voices from the front yard gradually grow louder, and Lydia hastily smooths down her skirt and hair. When the front door opens she’s greeted with Scott and Stiles’ knowing grins, immediately followed by Allison’s gasp of surprise.

“Don’t let me go _solo_ . . .” she echoes in awe.

“Lydia, you little _shit.”_  She rushes over to Lydia, carefully stepping over the solo cups to join her in the heart, and Lydia fucking _loves_ her for that.

“Of _course_ I’ll go to prom with you,” she gushes, throwing an arm around Lydia and kissing her cheek. Lydia blushes, a warmth spreading through her that has nothing to do with the stale sunlight streaming through the open windows.

“Guys, take a picture!” Allison exclaims, grabbing her side of the sign with her free hand and pulling Lydia closer. Lydia laughs in delight, hugging Allison back.

Turns out Scott already had the camera out and took a picture before they were ready.

It’s of them looking at each other, laughing, eyes crinkled.

They keep it.

~

Prom night has finally arrived, and Lydia assesses her appearance as she stares at herself in the mirror. Her red hair is partly down, half of it in thick, long ringlets, and her dark emerald dress highlights her eyes. Allison’s on her way to pick her up, and Lydia, for whatever reason, can’t place her nervousness. She knows she looks fine, she knows they’re both excited, but she just feels . . . _confined._ Her dress squeezes, her heels burn, and a few bobby pins dig into her skull. She remembers her younger years of high school when, to her, pain was essential to beauty, before she began dressing more freely, finding a suitable balance of beauty and comfort. But now, looking into the mirror fully made up, Lydia is reunited with that familiar surge of confidence. As she tucks a few loose strands behind her ear, her confidence ebbs away, and cold dread takes its place. _What if Lydia needs pain in order to be beautiful?_

The doorbell rings.

Lydia turns away from the mirror, resisting the temptation afterward to turn back around, and goes downstairs.

Allison’s so beautiful, more so than Lydia could have possibly imagined, when she opens the door. Her striking radiance casts a spell of shock leaning dangerously close to envy on Lydia, and she physically shakes her head, reminding herself that it’s not Allison’s fault that Lydia can’t carry herself as gracefully. Her dark hair is up in an elegant bun, with just a few wispy strands framing her face. Lydia loves those strands. She also loves Allison’s elegant, lilac dress that precisely frames her figure and her smile that could save lives.

_“Smile, Allison. Someone could be falling in love with you . . .”_

If only she knew.

“Oh my god. Ally, you look . . .” Lydia can’t pick a word strong enough. Maybe there isn’t one.

Allison beams, chuckling at Lydia’s speechlessness.

“So do you.”

That coaxes a smile out of Lydia. “Th-”

“No. Really. You look amazing, Lydia.”

Lydia can’t talk. Not right now, not like this. So she acts.

She surges forward, raising her arms to rest them on Allison’s shoulders, but then stops short just centimeters before her lips. She closes her eyes, breathes out more heavily than she’d have liked, and backs away.

“Sorry- I just . . . Your lipgloss.” Lydia chuckles bashfully.

Allison doesn’t miss a beat as she leans in and plants a feather light kiss on Lydia’s lips.

“That’ll do for now,” she decides nonchalantly with a shrug of her shoulders, acting like she doesn’t notice the effect it has on Lydia.

“Shall we?”

She and Lydia join hands, and after that they fall into an easy, familiar rhythm that’s just _them._ They talk, they laugh, with each other as well as others, and sometimes recess into temporary periods of comfortable silence before jumping back into conversation. Their night consists of stolen glances, little touches, and chaste kisses, and before they know it they’re pressed up against each other swaying in rhythm to a slow dance song.

“Lydia-” Allison starts and then stops.

Lydia pulls back, looking her girlfriend in the eyes.

“What’s troubling you tonight, Ally A.?” she asks, smirking and softly punching her shoulder lightheartedly.

Ally barely even reacts to the touch; she just looks up and sighs, placing her arms gently on Lydia’s shoulders. Lydia immediately responds by placing hers on Allison’s waist.

“Lyd, I just- I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you next year.”

Lydia laughs, actually _laughs,_ because surely Allison doesn’t really want to have this conversation _tonight_ , right? This conversation could go plenty of different ways, none of which Lydia is remotely inclined to delve into tonight.

“Allison,” she soothes, “let’s not think about that right now, okay? Let’s just enjoy tonight, enjoy us.”

“Fuck, Lydia, I can’t just . . . You know I love you, right?”

No.

Lydia did not know.

Definitely did not know.

“What-”

“God, I know it’s the _worst_ time to say it,” Allison says, with a strange sense of exasperated wonder.

“But I love you, Lydia Martin, and I want you to know it.”

Oh, and Lydia loves her, too.

So, so much.

“Allison . . . I- You- I ca-”

“It’s- I know- You don’t have to . . .” Allison assures as if the words can’t escape her mouth quickly enough.

“I don’t know where this is gonna go or what’s gonna happen, but life is short and I love you.”

 _“God,_ Allison . . . I l- This is- I do, I really-”

“I know. What you mean. Lyd, it’s okay.”

But now Lydia wonders how she’ll manage without her best friend, the girl who understood her from the very beginning and helped her save herself. The answer is simple: she won’t.

“Hey, Lydia,” Allison says, beckoning her back to reality. “You know what I want you to do now?”

Lydia, at a loss for words, simply gestures for her to go on.

“I want you to hold me right now, and dance with me, and, like you said, not think about the future right now. I want to enjoy tonight with you, because I love you and you love me, and that’s enough for right now. We can worry about everything else later. So please, just dance with me.”

And she does.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://lydiamrtun.tumblr.com), and please feel free to drop a comment! I love feedback! :)


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